


Strangers

by Zimra



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3313490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn Stark finds her new husband cold at first, but perhaps it will not last forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers

Though she lay in her bed with several blankets piled on top of her, Cat felt colder than she could ever remember feeling before. In the South it had been full summer for years, but here in Winterfell late spring could mean frost, or even snow. Today the temperature had dropped so dramatically that it had taken them all by surprise, and even the northerners complained. 

She had bundled herself in clothes and blankets when she retired for the night, and with help from the warmth of the fire had managed to fall asleep. But in the depths of the night the fire had burned down to ashes, and the cold had seeped into her very bones and woken her for good. Even curled up with the blankets pulled tightly around her, she shivered. 

The fretting part of her longed to go to the nursery and check on Robb. She’d heard tales of babies freezing to death in their cradles during the northern winters, but she had not expected to have to worry about that so late in the season - and in a great castle such as this one, she likely had no reason to. And no matter how much she worried, the thought of leaving even the insufficient warmth of her bed make her shiver even harder. 

Still, holding her son would be a welcome distraction from the cold; sometimes Cat felt as if he was the only person in Winterfell who truly belonged to her. She was still getting to know the servants and the men-at-arms and all the other members of Lord Eddard’s household, and her husband remained as terse and distant as he had been before the war, perhaps more so. Robb, with his blue eyes and scrap of Tully-red hair, reminded her of home, a lifeline to cling to in this sea of dark-haired strangers. 

Then there was the matter of the bastard boy, who looked so much like Lord Eddard already and who he had insisted on bringing up as his own son alongside Robb. He had said nothing about the child’s mother, and Catelyn did not have the nerve to ask, nor was she completely sure she wanted to know. Had she died, and now he felt honor-bound to care for her child? Or had he loved her so deeply that he had been willing to forsake part of his reputation for her? What if he planned to bring the woman here, making her his mistress or even abandoning Cat’s bed entirely? 

She had already given him one legitimate son, after all, and it would not be so surprising if he sought pleasure in the arms of another woman. The times Cat and her husband had lain together had been…not exactly unpleasant, for he was never rough, but there was none of the passion that she had heard there could be, when two people truly wanted one another. 

What if his perfunctory awkwardness with her was because he had already found a woman he preferred elsewhere? Everyone said that Eddard Stark was too honorable to do such a thing, but the proof of his unfaithfulness slept right here in the castle. 

Cat thought of Lysa, of their tearful parting and their fervent promises to write. Her sister had sent her one letter from King’s Landing so far, long and full of rambling about how grand her new home was, how kind the household had been to her, how she hoped to be with child very soon. Cat had no idea how much of it was true, and she had not yet been able to write a reply. Should she tell her younger sister that she was happy, in the hope that it would bring her comfort? She did not know if she could bring herself to lie, but what else could she say? _Dear Lysa, I am cold and lonely and my husband does not love me and I do not know if I will ever be happy again._

She gave a bitter little laugh at the thought, but it turned into a sob before it was halfway out, and before she knew it she was crying. “I want my sister,” she whispered to the darkness, feeling like a frightened child even though she was a woman grown, a lady and a wife and a mother. 

The door to her room creaked open, and she jerked up in shock, her heart hammering in her chest. Lord Eddard Stark stood at the foot of the bed, tall and shadowy with his dark hair hanging loose about his face, and though the shock ebbed quickly at the sight of him, her heart sank even further. Who else could it have been? If he wished to visit her bed she would not turn him away, but she was not sure she could manage to conceal her unhappiness tonight, and the thought of his cold hands on her bare skin made her shudder. 

“My lord,” she said, pulling the blankets up in a hopeless attempt to hide her tears. “I did not expect you at this hour.” 

“My lady,” he answered stiffly. “I’m not here to - I did not mean to disturb you. I merely thought you might want this.” He held something out, and in the dim light she could just make out what looked like a folded blanket. “This is unseasonably cold even for us. Compared to summer in the Riverlands, it must seem…I was concerned that you would not be prepared.” 

“Oh,” she said at last. “I…yes, another blanket would help. I fear I am still not used to the weather here.”

“I’m afraid that will take longer than a few months. In the meantime…you will tell me if you are ever uncomfortable, won’t you?”

His earnest tone was so unexpected and unfamiliar to her ears that she stared at him for a moment before answering. “Of - of course. Thank you, my lord.” 

He stared down at the blanket in his hands. “Lady, please - you are my wife,” he said. “There is no need for you to - I’m called Ned.”

“And I am Catelyn.” She hesitated a moment. “Or Cat, if you wish.” It felt strange, inviting someone who had not known her since childhood to use that name, but not telling him seemed somehow dishonest.

Fortunately he seemed to notice her discomfort, for he said, “Catelyn, then.” He smiled, one of the first real smiles she had gotten out of him since she’d arrived at Winterfell. She smiled back. 

Lord Eddard - Ned - unfolded the blanket and shook it out, then laid it on top of the others. She watched, wide-eyed, as he knelt beside the bed to pull the edges straight, his strong hands oddly clumsy. When he had finished he glanced up and met her gaze, then frowned.

“You’re shivering.”

It was true. She had stopped thinking about it, in the strangeness of this encounter, but despite the extra blanket her chills had not gone away completely. Cat wrapped her arms around herself and drew farther under the covers in an attempt to make them stop, but it was useless. Suddenly she found herself on the verge of tears again, and she turned her face away, ashamed. 

She felt the mattress shift and looked back to see him sitting on the bed, facing away from her and bending down to remove his boots. He pulled the covers back and Cat gasped as the cold hit her, curling up and shrinking away from him as he crawled in beside her and quickly replaced the blankets over them both. 

A little awkwardly he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against him. For a few moments she stiffened, trapped against skin and fabric that still carried the chill of the stone corridors outside, but before long his body matched the temperature that the bed had been without him, then began to surpass it. He seemed to radiate heat to an extent impossible for such a cold man, and she felt herself relax, her shivers slowly easing. 

“I’m sorry,” Ned whispered, “but it’s a bad sign when someone can’t stop shivering. You mustn’t let yourself get so cold. I should have come to check on you earlier. And I have not -” he faltered, “I have not welcomed you as I should. I fear I have neglected you, since you came here.”

Cat could scarcely believe what she was hearing. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to sob with relief or to snap at him, _Yes, you have._ Neither option seemed very appropriate, and instead she said timidly, “But you’ve been so busy, taking up rule of Winterfell and helping your people recover from the war.” 

“That is no excuse.” The stiff thread of anger in his voice made her nervous until she realized he meant it only for himself. “My duty is to my living family now. To you and our son.”

She felt a pang of pity for him then. Ned did not speak to her of Lord Rickard, or of Brandon or Lyanna, but he had been in mourning for his father and brother at their wedding, and now was again for his sister. Doubtless he had lost friends in the war as well. For all that she missed her father and Lysa and even Edmure, at least she knew they were alive and well, and might see them again one day. 

Perhaps this stern, quiet man longed for comfort just as she did, but neither of them knew how to ask for it from a stranger. 

They lay together in silence for a long while, then he asked, “Are you warm enough to sleep? I can return to my rooms, if you wish.”

“No, please stay. I’ll only get cold again if you go.” She snuggled closer to him, and his pleasant little gasp made her smile.

Slowly he moved one of his hands, grown warm under the blankets, and rested it on her head. “You have lovely hair, my lady,” he murmured, gently running his fingers through it.

“Catelyn,” she reminded him sleepily. 

“Catelyn,” he agreed in a whisper, and she drifted back to sleep with his hand on her hair and a new warmth in her heart.


End file.
